


Babydoll

by coveredbyroses



Series: 2019 SPN Kink Bingo [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Toys, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-02-01 06:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21410491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: Dean Winchester knocks on your door after years apart. After inviting him in, things quickly escalate…
Relationships: Demon!Dean/You
Series: 2019 SPN Kink Bingo [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1257542
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	Babydoll

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings.

He’s like a breath of fresh air after all these years; full lips, bleached-white grin. His eyes have a different sheen to them; there’s something… mirthful in those forest greens, but those aged crinkles rooting out from the corners still light a fire in your belly.

“Been a long time,” he says, and his voice - much deeper than before you think; its this deep grit - like stone grating on stone.

“It has,” you breathe, can’t stop the love-struck grin from splitting your face before quickly dropping into a sullen frown. “You okay?”

It’s been years since you’ve seen him, since you’ve seen either of the brothers. You haven’t been in contact with either men since the Leviathan War. The entire fight had left you emotionally and physically drained. You haven’t hunted since.

“More or less,” he shrugs - and when have those shoulders been so _thick_? “Honestly…” he grimaces, picks at the paint peeling from your doorframe, eyes hollowed and haunted. “I could use a - a friend?”

“Oh - of course.” You pull the door wide, sweeping a gesturing hand inside. “Come in, Dean. Please.”

That was your first mistake.

The second was agreeing to drinks with your estranged friend and hunting partner. You’re only on your second whiskey, and man - your head’s just _swimming_.

“You okay, babydoll?”

_Babydoll?_ Since when has he called you that?

“I…” you swallow and press a palm to your temple. “I guess it’s been a while…” It comes out a bit of a sleepy slur; your tongue doesn’t seem to fit right in your mouth.

“We better getcha home.” There’s a feeling; something cold and itchy in your gut. “Think you better sleep this off.”

“No, I’m okay,” you say, intuition digging its heels in - but his meaty arm’s already looped around your waist - and you’re walking - stumbling, really - hip to hip. The bar room’s spinning-

“I… I don’t feel so good…” Dean doesn’t seem too fazed, just grips you tighter.

“I gotcha, doll. M’gonna take care o’ya.”

The balmy July night air washes over your face as Dean guides you out the door - and then everything goes pitchy black.

*

There a pounding in your skull when you wake - worse than any hangover you’ve ever had - and you’re… cold? And thirsty. Dear _god_, you’re thirsty.

You go to rub at your eyes, but - there’s a resistance, a tug at your wrist-

Your head lulls to the right - your arm’s stretched long. A quick glance to the left-

You’re bound. Wrists tied snug to a headboard with scratchy rope. Eyes drifting south; you’re naked. Horribly, _horrifyingly_… naked. Instinct drives your feet to kick - and fuck. You’re ankles are restrained-

“Hey there, babydoll.”

There it is again - that pet name - _what_?

Your eyes swing forward. Dean’s standing at the foot of the motel bed; loose and relaxed. He’s shirtless, dark-washed jeans hung low on hunting-sculpted hips.

“You really need to work on your awareness, sugar.”

God - _what_? And his smile - it’s all… _wrong_.

“I drugged ya right under that cute little nose,” he says, and folds thick arms over his chest.

You try to speak, but your tongue is sandpaper. “D-De…?”

He chuckles; low and dry. “Oh, honey. Thought you were better’n that.”

You manage a swallow, work your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “Dean…” Your voice is like a scrape. “C’mon. Lemme out.”

Dean gets a knee up on the bed, leans down to brace on his hands, and you can feel the heat of him soak into your knees. He grins. “Oh, I don’t think so, babydoll.”

“Stop calling me that, Dean - please. I don’t want this. Let me go.”

He gets his other knee up, drags himself up the length of you, denim against bare skin. He settles right inside the stretched open V of your thighs, drops down to crush himself against you. You’ve never given much thought to the brute strength of the guy, not really.

Until now.

You shiver under the blanket of heat and flesh and muscle. Pleading eyes flitting up to - god. To oily black.

Fuck. It isn’t Dean.

“Exorc-” you start, but then Dean’s laughing this full laugh that has his wide shoulders shaking, eye crinkles deepening.

“That ain’t gonna work on me, darlin’. I ain’t a meatsuit. It’s _all_ me in here.”

“I… what?” God he’s close, nearly nose to nose, hot breath fanning at your lips. He smells so familiar; warm and spicy, but - but too _close_.

“Long story,” he says. “Too boring. And I wanna have fun. Wanna have some fun with me?”

“Dean - you need… Sam. Where’s Sam?”

Dean’s eyes roll at the mention of his brother, jaw ticking like the very name is an insult. “Don’t worry ‘bout him. Sammy ain’t invited to this party.”

Shit.

“Just untie me, Dean, please. We can talk about this, I-”

“I ain’t much of a talker these days.” He blinks, lets the ink wash back to reveal jade eyes again.

“I don’t _want_ this,” you try again, voice low, though it’s hard to sound tough naked and restrained at a demon’s mercy.

“Not yet,” Dean corrects, throws in a wink for good measure. “That’s all part of the fun.” He chuckles again. “Can’t wait to see the look on that pretty face when you submit to me. When you _beg_ for me.”

A wave of spite unfurls and spreads then. “That’s. Not. Going. To happen,” you hiss, eyes narrowed to slits.

“No?” Dean goads, then shifts. “Not even…”

Warm knuckles brush down your belly.

“When I do…”

Thick lips stretch into a _terrifying_ grin.

“This?”

A calloused pad of a finger rasps over your clit and - _oh. _Your hips lurch and a strangled cry breaks free.

“Eh?” Dean shimmers, then runs that finger down to your rapidly dampening entrance, and _swirls._

Oh, this is - no. Fuck - he can’t.

“Bet you’d just love for me to shove right in, huh?”

“Nngh-no… Please, I-”

“Soon, pretty girl,” the demon grins, then, just as quickly, rolls off the bed. You’re shivering for an all new reason now, and you clamp your eyes shut to steady yourself.

A zip, a rustle, and then you’re blinking again, eyes refocusing on Dean, who’s kneeling at the edge of the bed, vibrating wand clutched in a fist. Smile crooked, he thumbs the toy on and you feel your cunt clench at the low hum. His grin broadens.

“Oh, you like this, huh? Picked her out just for you. A few minutes with this and you’ll be putty in my hands, won’tcha?”

“Dean… I…”

Jesus Christ. Why can’t you say no? You couldn’t want this, right? But you’re so hot and slick and - when’s the last time you were this horny?

He eases the thing between your legs, settles the rounded head of the still-thrumming wand right up against your clit.

_Fuck._

A sound escapes you, some kind of choked, keening sound. It’s good, god it’s good; this easy, rumbling electric pleasure flooding from your cunt and through your limbs.

Dean huffs a laugh, at least you think he does. It’s hard to hear under the sound of your own heartbeat and the steady buzz of the vibrator.

“That’s it,” Dean says, lips brushing against your ear, breath hot. “Get nice and soaked for me. Fuck, can’t wait for you to beg for me… Wet pussy tight n’squeezin’ my dick. Goddamn. Got me hard as fuckin’ steel already.”

Your body responds to his words, fresh slick oozing down to your ass, cunt fluttering in excitement. Fuck. Maybe - maybe you _do_ want it, want this. All of it.

And, really, it isn’t like you haven’t thought about Dean Winchester in this way; grinding and twisting over you, pushing and pulling and _touching_. Just - not like this.

Your mouth gapes open as the pressure, the pleasure builds, and then - oh, then he’s kissing you; warm lips full and slanted over yours, tongue slick and hot and tasting. You kiss him right back, licking against him, breathing him in. He gets a hand on a breast, squeezing these _perfect_ little compressions into the swell of it, thumb swiping over the nipple. You moan into his mouth, every cell igniting under his mouth and touch, under the exquisite vibrations thrumming against your clit.

He breaks away, runs a thumb over your swollen lips, and gleams, “I gotcha now, don’t I?”

“Dean, I - Please!” You don’t want to give him this - this victory, but god, he’s pulling these sensations right out of you, wringing the pleasure, and fuck, you just - you just need to fucking _come_.

“You wanna let go for me, babydoll? I think ya do. Look atcha; you’re just shaking…”

“Please, Dean - god, please!” Your voice is a tiny whine, embarrassing even, but you need it; need _him_. “I’ll do anything, fuck!”

And that must be it, those must be the magic words, because now he’s absolutely beaming at you, eyes a deep earthy moss, tongue peeking out between blinding teeth.

The vibrations suddenly stop, and your pussy actually twitches in disappointment, and then-

Then something cold and sharp presses into your throat. “M’gonna let ya come, baby, but you’re gonna bleed for it. Y’hear?”

Your eyes float to his - black again, and you’re nodding dim, careful not to pull the blade into your skin.

“Y’wanna bleed for me, babydoll?”

Jesus. This is all kinds of wrong, but you _do. _You want to be marked and touched and _used_.

“I want it…” You can’t take your eyes off of his, off those inky pools. “Please - I… I need it.”

He sinks those perfect teeth into the soft give of his lip, eyes flitting to the small knife nudged against you. Carefully, he drags the blade down, circles your tits, then draws the cool steel up between the valley, then guides the weapon to the beginning swell of your left breast.

You take a bracing breath, moisture pricking at your eyes as Dean applies the pressure until the tip sinks in just enough to draw a pebbling of thick crimson. You don’t look, not because you can’t stomach the sight of blood, but that would make it to real, too much. So you close your eyes, try to find the pleasure in the pain.

He slides a hand down, palming your cunt, long fingers slicking through the wet to nudge at your entrance.

The blade leaves you only for a moment before it’s slicing again, like - like he’s drawing, or - writing?

But then he’s sinking those thick fingers into you, delving in to the last knuckles; deep. And, oh, there’s the pleasure you were seeking. He starts to pump; slow and easy, no doubt careful not to fuss his handiwork, but it’s good; a slow, wet drag in and out that keeps your blood hot, keeps your cunt singing, clit pulsing.

The next several minutes drag on for what feels like hours as his fingers plunge, as the blade carves away at your flesh. Fleeting thought skate across your lust and pain addled mind at what exactly he’s cutting into you; his name? A sigil? The pain is absolutely pounding, quelled only slightly by his thrusting fingers - and just when you think it’s finally over, he moves to your right breast.

The cuts are slow and precise, the pain searing hot, but your cunt continues to enthusiastically squeeze Dean’s pumping fingers. You’re wet enough to _hear_ the squelch, and you’re not sure whether your broken groans are coming from the demon or the knife. Or both.

After an eternity, Dean finally lets the blade clatter against the nightstand, tilts his head, and hums. He’s still lazily fucking his fingers into you, and then he’s ducking down, and fuck, he’s dragging his tongue along the shallow cuts, and _audibly_ swallowing the trickling blood.

“Fuck,” he groans, and that pulls your eyes open to slide up to his; black still. “You’re fuckin’ delicious, baby. Wonder if that pussy tastes just as good.” You whimper. “We’ll find out soon, hmm? Right now I think I want you creamin’ in my fuckin’ hand.”

New fire ignites at that, hurtling through your veins as Dean speeds up his thrusts. He licks into your mouth as he fingers go faster and faster - driving in hard enough that the undersides of them slap against your clit.

_“Fuckohgodfuckkk!”_ The pleasure is overwhelming, winds and wraps around you as he works you higher and higher and higher-

“Come for me, ya little painslut, my little fuck doll. Come. For. Me.”

His fingers are _pistoning_, the wet sound of it cutting through the quiet of the musty motel room.

“Fuckfuckfuck!” you squeak, sweat-soaked hair plastered to your cheeks and forehead. “I’m - I’m come-“

And then you fall; jerking and clenching and spasming around his still-hammering fingers. His fingers slow only when your orgasm fades, and then he slicks them out, drags them over clammy skin to wrap around your throat. “Fuckin’ perfect, baby. Fucking. Perfect.”

*

It’s late into the next morning by the time Dean finally releases you to shower. You drag yourself to the bathroom on heavy legs; sore and exhausted from hours of fucking. You squint and grimace at the blinding lights, then pad up to the mirror. Your eyes quickly regain their focus at the sight of the two words carved into the flesh just above your tits:

“Baby Doll”


End file.
